


The sturdy kind

by dotfic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bro-Bond Christmas Challenge, Castiel phone calls, Gen, Injured Dean Winchester, Monster of the Week, Pre-Castiel/Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 05:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17074205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: On Christmas Eve, Sam and Dean get separated from Castiel while on a hunt in the Willamette National Forest and an unexpected winter storm hits. Unable to contact a frantic Castiel when the cell phone service goes down, and caught out in the forest as the blizzard rolls in, with a Yeti on the prowl, the Winchesters do what they always do: they find a way.





	The sturdy kind

**Author's Note:**

> Set one year after 14.09. Beta by Tennyo. Slight background hints of Dean/Castiel, nothing overt (in other words, like canon). Castiel phone calls. Mentions of Jack, Mary, AU Bobby, and others.

They certainly had enough snow for this hunt. The houses of Bend, Oregon were draped in it like thick blankets and the roads were slippery, with Dean having to work to keep the Impala from skidding. At least it wasn’t snowing right that minute, even if the sky was still overcast and low and gray. 

Sam had his nose buried in a book about Yeti from the Men of Letters library that had to be at least a hundred years old as Dean parked outside a coffee shop. That was a good thing about the Pacific Northwest--there were a ton of places that made real coffee, not that Starbucks over-sweet glop.

“According to this, Yeti do go below the tree line. They’re also supposed to be in the Himalayas—still never found anything on why or how they got to the US.” Sam lowered the book and yawned before easing himself out of the car after Dean.

They stood on the sidewalk a moment, their breaths rising in clouds. Downtown had done some snow-clearing, but not that much, and everything seemed coated in white same as on the outskirts. 

“Abominable snowman, more like abominable snow,” Dean muttered.

Before they could go into the coffee shop, Dean’s phone buzzed. It was Cas.

“Hey Cas, what’ve you got?” Dean said, putting him on speaker phone. 

Next to him, Sam shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and hunched a little against the cold.

“Not much,” Cas said apologetically. “But a farmer in Cascadia says he saw something in the woods at the edge of his property, and he’s lost three cows this week.”

“Any tracks?”

“I found a partial. The fresh snow covered a lot of it but I believe it’s our creature.”

A message notification popped up with a photo of a large inhuman footprint in the snow, with a few pine cones scattered nearby. Sam leaned in to see.

“That looks about right,” Sam said. “Maybe it’s on the other side of Willamette forest?”

“They’ve had sightings inside the forest too,” Dean pointed out. “That lady who runs the hiking group.”

Cas made a low huffing sound of caution. Dean found it weirdly comforting. “There may be more than one. Be careful.”

“Always,” Sam said.

“You too, Cas.”

“Jack checked in,” Sam added. “He’s doing all right with his ghost hunt so far.”

“Good,” Cas said firmly.

They’d discussed it together last week, whether Jack was ready for a solo hunt without any of them nearby. But he’d been holding his own for a year now, so he and Sam and Cas sat down at the kitchen table after Jack was asleep and discussed it over beers and mutually decided, although Sam frowned a lot and immediately started writing down a hunter checklist for him.

Dean wasn’t sure which of them was the most worried. It was a basic salt-and-burn. It should be fine.

“I’ll see what more I can find on this side of the forest,” Cas said. “I’ll check in soon.” He hung up.

* * *

A clump of snow slid off a tree branch and down the back of Dean’s jacket, sending icy cold wetness over his skin. Dean clutched his coffee cup and twitched. At least the coffee really was good. 

“Told you, you should’ve worn a parka,” Sam said, as they stepped past the trail marker, deeper into the trees. “Something with thinsulate.”

“I’m fine. Three layers, Sam. And these are my good gloves.” Dean took a sip of coffee, rucksack holding weapons slung over his shoulder. So much of their lives had become strange and different lately--not bad strange, for a change. But it wasn’t really what Dean was used to. This, at least, was still familiar; rows of trees, their breath rising in small puffs, something out there with claws and teeth. They always came back to this, even if their methods and lives changed.

They’d parked the Impala at a ski-lodge and walked a short way to the trail. According to the map Sam had sensibly grabbed from the front desk, the trail should take them right by the area where the hiking group leader had spotted the Yeti.

“Could just be wolves,” Dean said, peering deep into the rows and rows of trees, their branches stark against the white.

“Not with what Mrs. Parker described,” Sam countered. “And she didn’t seem like the type to be on something or lie or hike while she’s drunk enough to hallucinate. She’s been leading hiking groups for about fifteen years.” A bird fluttered up, startled from the bare bushes as they went by, wings loud in the snowy quiet. 

The sky was still steel gray and only a little sliver of sun broke through, even less now that they were deep in the trees, the faint light caught in the branches. The trail started to go up-hill, getting rockier under the snow. 

“Could’ve been a bear,” Dean said, as they paused at a fork in the trail and Sam fumbled to re-fold the map without taking off his thick gloves. He crushed his now-empty coffee cup and stuffed it in his pocket. “Polar-brown bear mutant kind of thing.”

Sam looked up from the map. “What?”

“Saw a documentary on it, or read something online. Can’t remember which. Yeti are actually some kind of bear.” Dean stepped closer to the edge of the trail and crouched down in the snow, checking the faint line of tracks going off into the trees. Small. Probably a deer. He got to his feet again. “So which way do we go?”

“Left,” Sam said. “See, this branch follows the creek upstream, and that’s where Mrs. Parker said she saw whatever it was.”

“Ok, lead the way,” Dean said. “Don’t drop the map in the creek.”

“Creek’s frozen over anyway,” Sam retorted.

“Maybe I’ll wear a body cam next time we do a hunt in the woods, for the full Blair Witch experience.”

“Ha ha.” Sam edged his way around a large boulder and tucked the map away into his jacket pocket. His nose was a little red from the cold, his brown scarf wound snugly around his neck. 

It no longer startled Dean how adult Sam looked, like he could be someone’s dad. What startled him now were the moments when Sam still looked all of twelve years old. For a second Dean was tempted to scoop up a handful of snow and throw it at his little brother, just for shits’n giggles, but they were on the hunt. This wasn’t the time. 

They hiked on as the air grew chillier. Dean clapped his hands together, sound muffled from the gloves. His fingers were a little cold. 

What the heck, they were still a mile or so from the site, and they only had so many lives.

In one smooth motion, Dean ducked down, scooped up a handful of snow, and leaped forward to drop it down the back of Sam’s scarf.

“Hey!” Sam jumped, then saw Dean grinning at him. “Asshole.”

In response, Dean threw a snowball at him that hit Sam in the chest.

“Right, that does it. You’re toast.” Sam scooped up a handful of snow, and started molding it into a missile, and Dean darted past him, up the trail. A snowball flew over Dean’s shoulder and smacked into a tree, splattering it with white powder.

The sound of Sam laughing behind him echoed off the snow.

* * *

The cloud cover was going darker and thicker when they left the trail and followed the bank of the creek, eyes down as they looked for prints. They were lucky it hadn’t snowed again yet since the sighting.

They found deer tracks and spotted a raccoon peering down at them from a tree branch.

“Hey,” Sam said, and made a soft clicking noise with his tongue.

“Sam. It’s not a cat,” Dean said.

“What. It’s cute.”

“It probably has rabies.” The snowball fight had warmed Dean up a little but now his fingers and toes were growing colder again as the temperature kept dropping.

“Rabies? Not out here.” Sam crouched next to a fallen log, his gaze going across the creek. “See that?” He pointed.

Dean followed the line of his arm. “Yep. On the other bank.”

“Could be a print.”

The creek was half-frozen, water flowing between sides lined with sharp clear ice. Sam and Dean walked upstream a few yards, looking for a spot with enough stones and rocks to cross easily. Dean’s phone went off.

“Cas?”

“Dean, you and Sam need to get out of the woods, now.”

“What?” Dean stopped, motioning to Sam to wait. “Why?”

“Have you even checked your weather alerts?” Cas said sternly.

“Uh... of course,” Dean lied.

Cas sighed. “Of course you haven’t. There’s a blizzard on the way that should hit the Willamette area in the next hour. I suggest you two not be in the forest when it hits.”

“All right,” Dean said. “We’re just going to check out a possible print and then we’ll back-track to the car ASAP.”

“Dean--”

“Where are you right now?” Dean asked. “Did you find anything more?”

“Back in my motel room. And possibly, another eye-witness account from someone who was out walking their dog and had an encounter. Their dog got hurt and they--but that doesn’t matter right now. Get out of the woods first.”

“We’ll check back in with you in half an hour,” Dean said, and hung up as Cas started to raise another objection.

“What’s going on?” Sam waited for Dean to catch up to him.

“Cas says there’s a blizzard about to hit.”

“Then let’s check out that print and go.” Sam nodded towards a cluster of rocks perfect for crossing the stream, a few yards ahead. “We should’ve kept our eye on the weather alerts,” Sam muttered.

Long-legged, Sam hopped across the creek in about two strides. Dean followed, leaping it in three, and they made their way to the indentations in the snow.

“Yeah. That’s gotta be our Mister Fuzzy,” Dean said, snapping a photo.

There were two prints, deep, and bigger than any known creature that lived in that woods, about a foot across with five toes splayed wide. The print was feathered around the edges, suggestive of fur. Nearby, several spots of blood stained the snow.

A few small snowflakes started coming down, swirling and drifting among the trees.

“All right, so let me mark this on the map and then we can--”

Dean held up his hand, an abrupt gesture and Sam went still as a rabbit that senses a hawk, shooting Dean a questioning look.

In response, Dean jerked his head in the direction he’d heard the sound--a low snuffling kind of growl. 

The growl sounded again and something moved back in the trees, a dirtier white against the pure snow. Sam nodded, drawing his handgun, then gestured to his right.

They separated, moving in an outward sweep to flank the creature. Dean pulled his sawed-off out of his rucksack. It was loaded with regular bullets, prepared to kill a flesh-and-blood being. So far the thing was likely responsible for the deaths of about ten cows, two dogs, and had injured a third. In one of the accounts it had rushed right at a lone hiker, who was lucky to still be alive. Only a matter of time before the creature killed a human. 

Through the trees he saw Sam come up behind the thing, which was now crouched, white fur stained with the blood of the deer it was eating.

Sam aimed his gun and Dean raised his sawed-off to his shoulder, his muscles cold and tensed and ready.

The thing moved so fast, before Dean knew what was even happening, it charged Sam, who got off a wild shot before the thing’s big shaggy arm swiped out in a blur, claws extended and clipped Sam hard enough he thudded sideways against a big tree and slumped to the ground.

The adrenaline jolt that went through Dean was familiar. No matter what changed, this didn’t. Dean raced several steps forward and steadied the gun on his shoulder. The creature charged, dropping to all fours, moving suddenly like a giant wolf. It was a blur so quick Dean was taken off-guard. The thing knocked him to the ground, smelling of wet fur and blood. Its claws sank into Dean’s shoulder. 

Well, this was going to hurt.

Pressing himself back deeper into the snow, Dean lifted his knees, got his boots against the thing’s chest, and shoved. The Yeti outweighed him, but the kick was forceful enough to shove it off Dean, even if the thing’s claws ripped through the layers of Dean’s jacket, sweatshirt, and flannel shirt, tearing at his skin as it went.

Flipping to his feet, ignoring the blood seeping through the cloth at his shoulder, Dean calmly fired at the Yeti as it turned to charge him again. And again. 

On the ground Sam stirred, groaned, then snapped to attention, raised his gun, and fired the same instant Dean did for a third time. It was enough to finally make it fall to its knees, blood staining the white fur. 

Finally it thudded to the snow with a groan and lay still. 

“Sam?” Dean hurried over to his brother. “You okay?” He grabbed Sam’s arm, helping him to his feet, poking at his side, his ribs for injuries. Old habits.

Sam flinched slightly then nodded. “I’m okay...Dean, really,” he said calmly, and Dean let go.

They stood there a moment, their breaths rising in clouds in the cold air as the snowflakes grew smaller, falling faster and stinging cold. 

“Winter wonderland my ass,” Dean grumbled. 

He saw Sam’s eyes widen as he spotted the blood on Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean.”

“Yeah, it’s ok,” Dean said, putting his shotgun away in his rucksack. 

“It doesn’t look okay.” Sam took a step closer, and Dean let him inspect the wound as best he could through the tears in the clothing layers. “We need to get this bandaged.” He glanced around at the forest, the thick white falling all around them. “We need to get back to the trail, now.”

“We gotta...deal with that first,” Dean said, waving his hand at the heap of dead fur staining the snow red. “We can’t just leave it.”

“Can’t bury it,” Sam said. “The ground’s frozen, and we don’t have time.”

They dragged some brush and a fallen log over instead, covering the Yeti. Eventually the corpse of the creature would be picked over by the local wildlife. They just didn’t want forest service or any hikers to come across it.

They crossed back across the creek, headed in what seemed to be the right direction, but the blizzard was getting worse by the minute, making it hard to see beyond a few rows of trees, and the fresh snow coating the bushes and rocks were confusing the terrain, making it unfamiliar. 

They followed what they thought was the trail, only to find themselves coming to a ravine they didn’t remember seeing on the way in.

“Well, that’s just fantastic. We are batting a thousand today.”

After pulling out the map and studying it for a moment, brow creasing, Sam heaved a mighty sigh and put it away again. “We should just...keep going, I think,” Sam said. “The ravine’s not marked on the map. But if we follow it ravine downhill, we’ll get off the mountain. And there’s a ton of private ski cabins out here, we should be able to find someplace.”

The wind picked up, snow swirling thicker than inside a cheap holiday snow-globe. 

Dean stumbled once, his shoulder stinging, and Sam was there immediately, putting Dean’s good arm across his shoulders. “We should call Cas,” Sam said. “He can--”

“What?” Dean said. “He can’t fly, and in this blizzard it’ll take him hours to get over here and then how would he find us in this mess.” 

“He can heal your shoulder more quickly than we can get you to a hospital.” Sam pulled out his phone and sighed. “No service. Shit.”

“I don’t need a hospital. Just some bandages.” His stomach tightened a little, thinking about Cas tracking the blizzard and what he’d do when they didn’t check in. The idiot would probably drive over to try and find them, start walking through the forest in the blizzard, and get lost too. At least he was an angel so he couldn’t get cold.

They continued on, following the ravine with Sam in the lead because he was so tall he blocked some of the wind, although at this point Dean didn’t think either of them could claim good sense of direction. Or good sense for that matter.

The blizzard was near white-out conditions, snow making it hard to even breathe, stinging into Dean’s eyes, when they finally found the cabin. Sam was a hunched tall shape looming in front of him, when the shape of the cabin appeared suddenly like a materializing TARDIS and at this point, just as beautiful. It was little more than a big triangle with a porch tacked onto the front of it, but it looked well-maintained, with clear clean windows and unblemished wood. Snow coated the roof.

They pounded on the door and called but no one answered, and no smoke rose from the small chimney at the rear. 

“You brought your lock-picking kit on a Yeti hunt, of course you did,” Sam muttered, as Dean knelt to get the simple lock open.

“I’m always prepared.” Dean always enjoyed the satisfying click when the tumblrs gave under his work. “You’d rather we freeze our asses outside? Or have to break the door open with the hatchet?”

“Point,” Sam conceded, stomping his boots on the porch and shaking himself like a big dog to get the snow off before they entered.

It wasn’t exactly warm inside, but it was quiet and dry and less cold than outside, which was a bonus already.

One wall was almost all windows, another a fireplace, and another a fully outfitted kitchen. There was a hallway leading to a couple of bedrooms at the back. The ceiling had exposed wood beams, and the little house smelled of pine. 

It didn’t look like anyone had been there in a while, given the perfect neatness of the place, not a single dish or sweater or scrap of paper left out anywhere, no boots by the door. Or the owners were neat-freaks who had gone out for a walk in a blizzard.

Dean didn’t really feel how much his shoulder hurt until he sank onto the wood-framed couch and then it all hit him at once. The wound stung and his muscles ached from hours walking through the snow. 

He checked his phone. Still no service. Cas would be frantic.

Leaning back into the cushions, Dean closed his eyes. He just hoped Cas remembered to have some common sense before he went scouring the whole mountain for them. Also there were more Yetis out there, and while Dean was pretty sure Cas could take on six Yetis, and was a fast healer, he didn’t enjoy the image of Cas in a white-out blizzard fighting a thing that could tear flesh the way the one who’d injured Dean could. _He’s an angel, he’ll be fine_ had become a bit of a mantra while Dean knew all too well that wasn’t always true.

Sam sat next to him, and Dean pushed aside the memory of Cas’s body lying on the ground outside that lake-side cabin, wing-shadows burned into the dirt.

“Okay,” Sam said, opening a first-aid kit. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

“Fine. Then we’ll get a fire going. It’s freezing in here.” At least it wasn’t so cold they could see their own breath.

This was a routine they’d been through hundreds of times. Dean shrugged out of his jacket and pulled off a few layers until he was just in his blood-stained t-shirt. Sam rolled up the cotton, revealing three deep gashes, slashing across Dean’s shoulder.

“Damn.” Sam started unrolling the gauze, then poured hydrogen peroxide onto a pad to wipe the wounds clean. “You’re lucky that wasn’t deeper.”

He finished putting the bandage in place and then Dean shrugged away, slapping at Sam’s hands. “Okay,” Dean grumbled. “Okay, I’m fine, stop fussing. It barely even hurts,” he lied.

Sam huffed out an amused sigh. “Good, glad to hear it.” He carefully folded the remaining clean gauze and put it and the scissors and tape away in the first-aid kit.

“You think they have any whiskey in this dump?” Dean went over to the kitchen and started opening cabinets. “Yahtzee! And it’s top shelf stuff, too.” He pulled out the bottle.

While Dean went looking for glasses, Sam checked the fireplace flue, then grabbed a log from the neat stack near the fireplace. Through the windows, the snow fell thickly. This wasn’t like when it snowed in towns, when they holed up in some crummy motel or other, where there was ambient light all around, reflecting off the snow. Here it was just dark.

After bringing the whiskey and two glasses over to the couch, Dean checked his phone again. _No service._

Well, there was nothing they could do about it now. Cas would definitely worry, and that was just the way of things. Maybe Dean didn’t mind so much, though. And Cas... Cas used to be more of a wanderer, but they expected him to be in the bunker, so he moved into the bunker a few years ago, and stayed. They never talked about it, exactly. He still came and went at times like some kind of stray cat, but he was there a lot more. He always came back, and Dean had stopped wondering if he would.

“Hey,” Sam said, poking Dean in the ribs with his elbow. 

“Hey.” Dean opened the whiskey and poured. He handed Sam a glass, then raised his own. The fire Sam had built was crackling and dancing in the fireplace. “You know what I just realized?”

“What?”

“It’s Christmas eve.”

“So it is.” Sam plunked his boots onto the rough-hewn oak coffee table that looked like the house owners had built by hand from a tree they’d cut down in the forest themselves. 

“To Cas and Jack,” Dean said and they clinked glasses and took a sip.

“To Mom,” Sam said.

“To Other Bobby,” Dean added, using the term he’d started using for him, just not to his face. They took another drink. “To Jody and Donna and their girls,” Dean added.

“To Garth and his family.” Sam grinned. They’d met Garth’s little girl a few times, and she’d immediately taken to Sam, who could still pick her up with one arm even though she was growing fast.

They finished their glasses, so Dean poured more. His shoulder wound was starting to hurt less. Bless whiskey. 

A few hours later they’d eaten the popcorn they found in the cabinets, which they heated and popped by shaking a pot over the flame, and had played several hands of poker.

“So... have you and Cas had a chance to... talk lately?” Sam asked, changing the subject abruptly from football.

Damn whiskey. Dean should’ve known this would happen now that he was warm and relaxed and off-guard.

“Talk?”

“Talk.” Sam laughed. “You know. With words? That come out of your mouth?”

“About what?”

“Oh... I don’t know.” Sam waves a hand vaguely. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Dean said sharpy and quickly gulped down more whiskey.

“Okay, okay.” Sam stared into the fire for a moment. “You know I figured out a way we might be able to tag some monsters, even if we can’t kill them right off? So we know exactly where they are?”

“Yeah?”

“And Jules and Jack are helping me digitize the Men of Letters files we found in the sub-basement.”

“You’re doing good work, Sam.” Dean swirled the dark liquid in his glass. “Used to think... bloody and sad was the only way it could end and now... now I’m not so sure any more.”

“It doesn’t have to.” Sam fidgeted with the stack of playing cards. “I swear it doesn’t. A few years ago you talked to me about wanting to retire on the beach, remember?”

“I remember.” Dean took another swallow of whiskey. “Everything went to shit right after.”

“It usually does. But we made it through. It was hard. It’s always hard. But we did. So maybe…”

“I used to think I would hunt the rest of my life,” Dean said. “Until I dropped from it, or it dropped me. Die with a machete or a shotgun in my hands. But now I’m not as sure. You know I used to want to be a rock star?” Dean laughed. “Or at the least, have my own band. I never even learned to play the guitar.”

“You could now.”

“There’s a lot of stuff I’d like to do.” Dean stared down into his glass.

“You could,” Sam said. “You’re smart. You built your own EMF meter.”

Dean looked up, startled. “You always laughed about that.”

“I know.” Sam looked a little sheepish. “That’s what pain in the ass little brothers do. But I--I was impressed. I didn’t know how to do that. Look, Dean... you looked after me... and then you looked after others... your whole life. But you’re more than whatever box Dad tried to put you in. You know that, right?”

“It was my job to keep you safe, that’s what Dad wanted, and I kept screwing that up,” Dean said. It didn’t hurt to say that as much as it used to. “But I tried. I wanted to keep ‘em all safe. You…Cas... Jack... I tried.”

“Well they’re okay. Right now, they’re okay, Dean.” The fire was getting low. Sam grabbed the poker and gave the embers a stir, sending up a shower of sparks. “You didn’t fail, Dean. You never failed. Not me, not anyone... Cas doesn’t think you failed. Go on, ask him. Sometimes... you need to live a little in the world you’re trying to save, man. I don’t mean white picket fence, quit hunting for good, but... something. Maybe you can have a life without quitting the life. You deserve that.”

This was getting entirely too chick-flick moment. 

“I want more popcorn,” Dean said, and headed back for the kitchen.

* * *

They fell asleep curled on the floor by the fire, wrapped in blankets, like a couple of kids at a sleepover. 

Dean woke to the sound of his cell phone buzzing and his “Highway to Hell” ringtone going off. The cabin was bright with daylight and the fire was cold. It was Cas calling.

“Morning, sunshine!” Dean said as cheerily as he could, because he could just feel the tension and worry radiating from the other end.

“Dean!” Cas snapped. “Are you and Sam all right? The cell phone service went out last night, I tried to reach you for hours. Finally I went to the ski lodge to find you but no one had seen you and I had no idea where in the forest to start looking, so I--”

“Cas. Slow down. We’re fine.” Dean got to his feet. “The blizzard rolled in pretty fast but we found a cabin to hole up in.” Dean decided not to mention the part where he’d gotten clawed by a Yeti. “We didn’t have any cell phone service either.”

“Izzat Cas?” Sam mumbled from the floor, where he was nestled in his blanket like the world’s longest burrito.

“Yeah, cell phone towers are back up,” Dean said.

“Hi, Cas.” Sam yawned.

“Sam says ‘hi,’” Dean said into the phone.

“Hi, Sam.”

“Cas says ‘hi,’” Dean told Sam who made some kind of grunting noise in acknowledgment, eyes closed. “Cas, listen, it’ll take us a few hours to hike back to the lodge. Stay there.”

“But Dean--”

“We’re fine. You hear from Jack?”

“Yes, he salted and burned the spirit last night and he’s not injured in any way.”

Dean felt a small flare of pride in his chest. The kid was a quick learner. 

“Dean, perhaps I should hike out to meet you. Which trail are you closest to?”

Moving away from Sam, over to a window, Dean peeked outside. The panes were frosted and the snow blanketed the clearing around the cabin and the tree branches all around. It was so bright, with the sun reflecting off the snow, Dean had to shield his eyes with his free hand. “Cas, I promise, it’s all right. We’ll be at the lodge in a few hours. Just…be there.”

“Of course I will,” Cas said, so sincerely it caught at Dean’s heart. Shit, he’d been really worried. 

“Cas... thanks.”

“For what?”

“Being there,” Dean said, and hung up.

* * *

The hike back out of the forest to the lodge was easy, despite the ache in Dean’s shoulder. He led the way, their boots making soft crunching sounds in the snow. They actually had no idea what direction to go to get back to the trail, but the sun was growing warmer and higher in the sky, Cas was waiting for them, Jack was all right, they’d gotten the Yeti. He and Sam would find the way.


End file.
